


your mecha love

by imprintofadream (imprint_of_a_doe)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Meetings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imprint_of_a_doe/pseuds/imprintofadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s kind of fascinated by the freckles on Lydia’s shoulder, and she shouldn’t be. The girl is <i>way</i> too assuming to be attractive, too sure of herself. Allison usually goes for the sweet guys, the earnest ones who work to impress her and end up embarrassing themselves while she hides her laughter. Lydia is the kind of girl who <i>breaks</i> guys like that. </p>
<p>And maybe that’s precisely the reason Allison can barely tear her gaze away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your mecha love

**Author's Note:**

> title from "mecha love" by hadouken!

-you wanted the world-

“Please, _please,_ god, tell me you’re ready to go, babe.”

Allison looks up from her drink to the girl staring at her with scarily demanding eyes and a simpering smile. She has no idea how the two vastly different attitudes combine in the one expression. “I--me?”

“Darling, please, don’t be dense,” the girl continues, rolling her eyes; the glitter of her eyeshadow sparkles in the low lighting from the dance floor. “You haven’t had nearly enough to justify asking me who I mean right now.”

“How would you know?” Allison asks, raising her eyebrows coolly as she sips her Cape Cod. 

“I was monitoring your alcohol intake, as per our deal? You’re the sober driver tonight, babe? How else would we get home?” 

She can’t believe this is happening. “I have pepper spray,” she says. “I’m not the girl you want to bother tonight.”

The girl sighs dramatically, leans right into Allison’s space to press her mouth against the skin under her ear; Allison flinches at the warm touch. “Look, I have three separate guys eyeing me tonight, okay, and I am not ready to go home with any of them. Help me out and I’ll pay you back for every one of your drinks tonight.”

Allison leans back, takes in the girl’s expectant smile and sees how it could be seductive, like she’s just told Allison a dirty secret or plans for their bedroom or--Allison swallows the last sip of her glass. “Just sit down and get me another drink now. We can pretend to be cutesy and couply here, okay, but I’m not leaving with you.”

She narrows her eyes at Allison but ultimately sighs shortly and slides onto half of Allison’s barstool. “Fine, but if they’re still watching me in twenty minutes I at least expect an escort to my cab.”

“How about we call security to escort you if they’re still here in twenty minutes? Can you get my drink now please?”

The girl flips her hair over her shoulder with a barely audible huff and leans forward over the bar, waving her hand at the bartender; Allison tries not to look at her ass, fails, stares at the creamy pale skin on the insides of her thighs and the slight scattering of freckles until the girl sits again. She clears her throat, nudges the girl with her elbow to distract herself from the blush she can feel rising up her chest. “Allison, by the way.”

“Lydia,” she says, smiling primly as the bartender appears in front of a her. “Strawberry Daiquiri and another... what, vodka and cranberry?” 

“Cape Cod,” Allison corrects, nodding at the bartender. “Thanks, Boyd.”

“You know the bartender?” Lydia wrinkles her nose. “You’re not a drunk, are you?”

“No.” Allison snorts, pushes her hair behind her ear and wriggles on the barstool, trying to comfortably sit on her half; she steadies herself by resting a hand on Lydia’s leg, ignores the single-eyebrow raise it gets her and decides to leave it there. “I work here four nights a week.”

“And yet you’re still hanging around on your night off?”

“Not my night off.” She’s kind of fascinated by the freckles on Lydia’s shoulder, and she shouldn’t be. The girl is _way_ too assuming to be attractive, too sure of herself. Allison usually goes for the sweet guys, the earnest ones who work to impress her and end up embarrassing themselves while she hides her laughter. Lydia is the kind of girl who _breaks_ guys like that. 

And maybe that’s precisely the reason Allison can barely tear her gaze away.

Lydia shrugs, nods wordlessly at Boyd when he sets their drinks down and slides a twenty across the counter. “I don’t really care, to be honest.”

“Good to know,” Allison mutters under her breath, reaching for her drink and taking a sip immediately. She might just need to be drunk quick if she wants to get through this. Maybe she should push Lydia off the stool and claim it was an accident, get herself out of this early.

“What I do care about,” Lydia continues on, as if she hasn’t heard Allison, “is whether or not you want to dance when you’re done with that drink, or even with it. I’m not picky.”

“I call bullshit on that right now!” She turns to look at Lydia with wide eyes, laughing incredulously. “Oh my god, I bet you turn guys down two syllables into their introductions!”

“Oh, please, only the girls get two full syllables to impress me.” Lydia smirks, sips her drink without breaking eye contact. Allison feels herself flush. “Either way, picky or not, I still want to dance, and you’re my cover so I want _you_ to dance. Remember, free booze.”

Three minutes later, Lydia is pulling her onto the dance floor, hands entwined, and then she’s turning so she’s right up against Allison, looking up from under her lashes as she presses closer still. “Good remix for dancing,” she half-shouts in Allison’s ear, breath warm against her skin, and Allison can’t help but clutch at her waist with her free hand, can’t help but swallow and press her nose against Lydia’s hair.

She smells like hair spray and Marc Jacobs perfume and sweat; Allison’s heart beats double to match the dubstep building around them. 

Lydia presses her knee between Allison’s, winds her arm around Allison’s neck and pushes her hips into her, grinding slow and precise, drink held aloft next to them. Allison can’t figure out how her hand seems to embody the definition of elegance, fingers curling loose and delicate around the plastic. She kind of wants to suck them into her mouth, wants to press them between her legs and see what Lydia can do with those perfectly manicured hands. Instead she follows Lydia’s lead, lets her guide their rhythm, lets one song turn into three, until their drinks are empty and Lydia has started running fingers through her hair, mouth pressed close against her neck. 

“Are those guys gone yet?” Allison yells, curling her arm tighter around Lydia’s waist even as she means to let go and check. 

Lydia lifts her head, glances around shortly before shrugging. “I don’t care.” 

Allison blinks, opens and closes her mouth before she presses it against Lydia’s ear and asks, “Were there any guys to begin with or did you just need an excuse to buy me a drink?” 

Lydia’s lips stretch into a pleased smile against her shoulder, and Allison tries not to grin as Lydia’s knee moves slightly higher, pressing against the insides of her thighs. “What do you think, honey?” 

“I think I know a pretty good breakroom that should be empty for a little while if you need to hide from any patrons who are harassing you.” 

“Well, now that you mention it...” Lydia pulls back slightly, slithers down Allison’s body until she’s brushing her nose against Allison’s hipbone on the way back up, never breaking eye contact. “I do feel pretty harassed.”

“Let me see what I can do for you.” Allison reaches out for Lydia’s empty cup, stacks it in hers and grabs Lydia’s hand to pull her back toward the bar. She ducks under the flap, merely lifts an eyebrow at Boyd when he glances at her disapprovingly and gestures toward the back room as Lydia pops up behind her. 

The music isn’t so loud back here, not so trancelike, but Allison doesn’t mind, prefers it even. She drops their cups in a garbage bin, walks backwards to the couch in the breakroom before she sits on the arm, pulls Lydia between her legs and wraps her arms around her waist, cranes her neck to finally kiss her. 

Lydia kisses like Allison knew she would, demanding and expectant and controlled, one hand pulling Allison’s hair and the other skimming Allison’s ribs through her shirt. She guides them, presses in when she wants, shoves Allison back off the arm and onto the cushions of the sofa so that she can climb on top of her, dress shoved up to her hips as she leans over to lave her tongue over Allison’s collarbone. “Get my dress off,” she orders, nipping at the skin, hands exploring Allison’s hipbones. “Get it off now.”

It comes off easy, slipping over Lydia’s head and hair without getting caught; Allison’s nearly breathless from the way she looks with her arms over her head, back arched and ribs stark, her black bra contrasting beautifully against her creamy skin. She leans up on her elbows, mouths across the swell of one breast, feels Lydia tangling her fingers back in Allison’s hair to keep her there. Allison noses the cup of her bra down, runs her tongue across her nipple and pulls back to blow cool air over it, grinning at the way Lydia shivers and grinds her hips down before she goes back in. 

Lydia wrenches her up a few minutes later, quivering and impatient as her hands scrabble to pull Allison’s shirt up, flicking the clasp of her bra and shoving it aside with one hand even as her other unbuttons Allison’s jeans. “Okay?” she asks, tone business-like despite the breathiness. 

Allison laughs, lifts her hips to shove her jeans down and rests her hands on Lydia’s hips, pressing her fingertips in and grinding up as soon as she can, letting Lydia slip a leg between hers. “Yeah,” she says, “yeah, I’m definitely okay. Come here.”

Lydia is soft, smooth, skin cool and slightly damp with sweat where she’s pressing against Allison; her mouth is warm, quick to dart in and slow to move away, and Allison kisses her back thoroughly as her hand slips under Lydia’s thong, brushing through soft curls before dipping further down, into wet heat and sounds that make her own muscles clamp down when they spill from Lydia’s mouth. 

“Oh, god, yes,” Lydia breathes against her mouth, rolling down against Allison’s hand. “I love women, god, you always know just where--oh, _god_ \--just where to start.”

“You mean here?” Allison asks, laughing just a bit when Lydia convulses on top of her as she drags her knuckles firmly across her clit. 

“Yes, yeah, and--oh, god, your fingers, yes, two, _now_ ,” Lydia demands, and Allison has always been curious about this part, about how it would feel to have another woman clamping down around her fingers as she fucks them into her; she knows now how much of a turn-on it is, knowing exactly what she’s doing to Lydia, being in control and curling her fingers just as she wants to, the heel of her palm rubbing against Lydia’s clit in rhythm. She can’t say she’s ever been more confident during sex, not with Lydia moaning her encouragement around kissing and gasping for air.

By the time Lydia’s back arches, her breath stuttering as her walls spasm around Allison’s fingers, she’s close to orgasm herself, Lydia’s thigh between hers perfect for grinding on. She’s panting as she slowly curls her fingers inside Lydia, grins again when Lydia’s whole body shakes anew, and Lydia’s eyes are half-lidded, dark with promise and lazy with satisfaction, her lips shiny and swollen and slightly parted. 

“Well, seems like you know what you’re doing, Miss Allison.” She sits up, slowly, lets Allison’s fingers slide out of her as her eyelids flutter. Her hands, braced on Allison’s ribs, slowly uncurl, fingers brushing the bottom of Allison’s breasts. “Care to let me return the favor?”

“Only if you come home with me tonight,” Allison bargains, head rolling back against the cushions as one of Lydia’s hands brushes down, a barely-there touch passing over the sensitive skin of her waist. 

“Honey, if I go home with you tonight, I’m not leaving for quite a while,” Lydia promises, grin sharp and eyes dangerously pleased. 

Allison gasps at the mouth against her chest, curls her fingers around Lydia’s bicep and strains her hips up to meet her touch. “That’s perfectly okay with me,” she says, eyes slipping closed. “Show me what you can do.”

-you wanted it all-

In the morning, Lydia finds one of Allison’s old boyfriend’s shirts and wears it to make breakfast, pancakes from the almost-empty box of mix she finds in the cabinet. They eat sitting cross legged on the counter top, smiling smugly and sharing a mug of coffee between them.

Allison picks up her phone when Lydia hops off the countertop to grab a refill on the coffee, opens a quick text to Boyd: _you know how i thought i might be bicurious but worried that was only in theory? going down on a woman is SO MUCH BETTER than going down on a guy, okay, i may never look back from her._

-this is the last stand-

**Author's Note:**

> allison's realizations at the end were _very_ similar to my own at one point. if you have any problems, see any errors, or have questions or comments, feel free to either comment here or visit me over on [tumblr](http://www.imprintofadream.tumblr.com) :D


End file.
